


Take Two

by PengyChan



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Coco Locos Fluff Off, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 23:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PengyChan/pseuds/PengyChan
Summary: Héctor never got to walk Coco down the aisle on her wedding day. However, death is full of possibilities.





	Take Two

**Author's Note:**

> I was starting to think I wouldn't be able to enter the Fluff Off, but I _somehow_ managed to put an entry together. Go me.
> 
> The prompt: “A fairytale with a happy ending always brings a smile to my face.”

“Ready?”

“No.”

There is an edge of panic in Héctor’s voice, and the way it cracks makes Imelda smile even as something that is no longer _there_ squeezes painfully in her chest cavity. He would have been just as nervous in life, back when Coco had been a young woman and Óscar and Felipe had to step in to fill the void.

She supposes she should be happy he and Coco are getting this at all - she is - but it is so unfair to think they had to wait a lifetime for it.

“You’ll be fine,” she says, straightening his jacket and making sure his shoes are shining clean with a quick glance. “And if you cry - take off the hat, por Dios - if you cry, I’m sure no one will mind.”

Héctor nods and ay, he’s already sniffling. “Our little girl has grown up,” he mutters, and Imelda cups his cheekbone.

“Yes,” she says. “Our little girl has grown up.”

* * *

“Ready?”

“Sí, just a moment-- where is the shoe polish...”

“You polished those shoes until they shone, papá,” Victoria says with a roll of her eyes, but she reaches to take the polish from the shelf it’s resting on before handing it down to her father. Sometimes it is hard to remember there was a time, long ago - before she knew how to tie her own shoelaces - when she’d have to look up at him.

But he stayed quite short, as did her mother and sister, and she just shot up with puberty - taller than anyone else in the family, save from her great-uncles. Only in death, seeing her grandfather for the first time - a quick glimpse as her abuela flung shoes at him until he turned and ran - had she understood who she’d taken after.

“Ah, gracias,” her papá says, starting to polish his shoes. They are the ones he only wears for great occasions; her mamá made them for him, and she had insisted he should be buried with them. They are still, without a doubt, his most prized possession.

“Do I look good enough?” her father asks. He stands, straightening his jacket and fixing his mustache somewhat self-consciously, and Victoria blinks.

“Good enough?”

“For your mother.”

Victoria remembers, in a moment, the day before his burial - when her mamá sat on the workbench to polish those shoes for him so tenderly, even as she struggled to hold back her tears. Even now, so many years later, Victoria feels something gripping her non-existent throat.

“Papá, you were always good enough for her,” she says, rolling her eyes as though it was the most ridiculous question she never heard, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “She decided as much seventy-something years ago, didn’t she?”

“Well, yes--”

“And she’s choosing you again, no?”

A small, somewhat dreamy smile. “Sí.”

“And you wouldn’t argue with her taste, would you?” Victoria adds, and this time he laughs.

“Oh, never,” he says, and he doesn’t voice any more doubts

They leave the house together and head outside towards the chapel, carefully avoiding the rooms her mother is in with tía Rosita.

The groom shouldn’t see the bride before the wedding, after all.

* * *

“Be still, Coco, you’re not ready yet! I’m almost done, almost done. Oh, you’re going to look a dream! Good thing we’re all already dead, or else poor Julio would drop dead! Well, maybe he’ll drop anyway, but not dead, you know?”

Coco laughs, glancing in the mirror again. She is already wearing the dress Ceci made for them - it is gorgeous and they had to insist to pay back at least the value of the  materials, she was so dead set on giving it to them for free and in the end they had invited her to the wedding to thank her - while Rosita does her hair.

“Oh, I hope he doesn’t!” she says. She honestly cannot remember last time someone put so much effort braiding her hair into something so elaborate, with Marigold flowers woven through it to boot, but it is worth all the effort. “This is wonderful, Rosita. You’ve done so much to help.”

“Oh, I'm happy to help! A fairytale with a happy ending always brings a smile to my face. It’s not every day you get married. Again!” she grins widely at her through the mirror. “All jaws will drop! Especially your papá’s!”

_Papá._

The thought makes Coco smile even more widely, and despite the emptiness beneath her ribs, something seems to jump anyway. It seems unfair to Julio, but she can’t help but think that will be the highlight of her day: having her papá by her side, to walk her down the aisle at long last. She can’t wait to renew her vows, but… well, she and Julio have married before. Walking up to the altar with her father at her arm would be a first. In life, her uncles had fulfilled the role just fine, but still--

“Coco!”

"Looking good!"

"Drop _dead_ gorgeous!"

“Smile!”

“Wha--”

The sudden flash of a camera causes Coco to shut her eyes, and Rosita to huff.

“Oye, padrinos! Aren’t you supposed to be making sure refreshments are ready?”

Tío Felipe grins over a huge, very antiquated camera. “We did!”

“But we decided to take pictures, too!” Tío Oscar adds.

“Lots of them!”

“So that the rest of the family can see them when they join us!”

“We’re also going to make a video!”

“Well, you’re going to do it when the bride is ready to be filmed!” Rosita protests, and shoos them out while Coco laughs.

“It’s all right, Rosita. I don’t mind.”

“But I do,” her sister-in-law mutters. “Today should be perfect, Coquito. You deserve it.

It is already perfect, Coco thinks, but just smiles and nods, and lets Rosita keep fretting over her hair.

* * *

“Julio and I are thinking of renewing our wedding vows.”

Coco had spoken quietly and casually, stitching the final touches on the pair of dancing shoes she had just finished working on, but she may very well have shouted and the reaction in the workshop would have stayed the same: a moment of silence and stillness, as though they were processing a foreign language, before everyone began talking all at once.

Well. Shrieking, in Rosita’s case.

“Ooh, how romantic! Can I help? I’ll sort out the refreshments! It will be as good as last time - no, even better! We’re going to have music, and more people, and-- can I do your hair again, Coco? Can I--”

“Isn’t it… a bit early?”

Héctor’s voice had come out as little more than a croak, causing the room to fall silent and everyone to turn to look at him. He’d realized then how stupid the statement was - his daughter and Julio had been married some seventy-something years, after all. But a stubborn part of him, the one that kept referring to Julio as Coco’s _boyfriend_ rather than her lifelong husband, kept telling him everything was going too fast.

It wasn’t, of course; it wasn’t early for them. He had just come into the picture far too late.

Coco had smiled. “No, papá. We actually waited far too long.”

“Right. Yes. I mean, of course. You married in, well, what year was it aga--”

“I think it is about time you walk me down the aisle.”

“About time I--” Héctor had started, only to fall silent when the meaning of those words had sunk in.

Walk Coco down the aisle, a father taking his daughter to the altar - as he never got to do in life. He had that chance, now.

_My little girl is getting married._

Héctor had felt, distantly, the gently weight of Imelda’s hand on his back. He’d nodded. “... Of. Of course. If you… I just… need a minute,” he’d added before turning around, and leaving the workshop.

He’d taken more than one minute - nearly half a hour - to have a little cry, then laugh, then cry again and finally return with a smile that threatened to split his face in two, so excited and grateful he could burst.

“All right,” he’d said, holding Coco into a tight, tight hug. “Let’s do this, mija.”

* * *

_Oh God we’re actually doing this._

Standing outside the chapel, Héctor swallows and straightens himself a little, holding tight on Imelda’s hand.

“I’m not going to cry,” he says, his voice shaky. He can see the car approaching, excitement and happiness and dread battling in his chest cavity.

“You’re going to bawl,” Imelda whispers back, the smile obvious in her voice.

“You bet I am. But I’ll try to make it to the--”

To the altar, he meant to say, but words die in his throat the moment the car - is that Óscar or Felipe driving? Either way, it was not a good pick - stops, the back door opens, and Coco steps out - straight out of a dream, the dress as white as her hair, flowers in her braids and a smile on her face that would make the sun pale, one-toothed or not. It widens when she sees him and thank God she walks up to him, because he’s glued on the spot. One last squeeze, and Imelda’s hand lets go of his own.

“You look lovely, mija.”

“Thank you, mamá,” Coco smiles back, and looks at him. The smile turns into something different, something softer. “It’s been a long wait, papá.”

Héctor swallows, tears already in his voice. “I know, Coco. But I am here,” he manages, and turns to give out his arm. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

As absolutely everyone was able to predict, Héctor weeps. A lot.

He weeps as they walk down the aisle, to get Coco to an almost equally tearful Julio. He weeps throughout the function, recovers well enough when it’s time to return home and have refreshments with family and friends on the terrace of their house - and then, when it’s time to have the first dance with the bride, he starts crying all over again… and so does Coco.

Imelda supposes that Remember Me - the right one, as it was always meant to be sung, not what _that man_ turned it into - was the last straw, but there could be no other song for that dance. It is _their_ song.

“Isn’t she the most beautiful bride you have ever seen?” Héctor finally says when he recovers again, watching her and Julio dance to a much livelier song and chuckling a little when he struggles to keep up.

“She is,” Imelda says, and takes his hand. They will have their dance soon, too, but not just yet. Right now, everything is about Coco and Julio - as it should be. “Though we _might_ be biased.”

“Heh. Just a little,” he says, and they sit in silence for a few more minutes. More people join in the dance and, finally, Héctor stands, holding out his hand. “May I have this dance?” He asks, then, lowering his voice so that no one else hears. “And… maybe your hand? Again?”

 _Oh,_ Imelda thinks. _Oh._

Her stunned look causes Héctor to panic slightly. “I mean-- if you want-- and not right now, this is Coco’s day, but I was thinking-- if you’d consider renewing--” he trails off when Imelda suddenly reaches up, snatches his hand, and stands. She stares up at him and gives him a quick, secret smile.

“Yes,” she says, and oh does she mean it, she _does,_ like she did all those years ago, on a sunny day in Santa Cecilia. “As long as you don’t pick the same best man as last time.”

“Oh, not a chance,” Héctor laughs, and Imelda laughs with him.

“Then yes, I do,” she whispers, and she pulls him with her towards the dance floor, trying not to laugh at the goofy grin that splits his face as she takes the lead.


End file.
